Monday, September 9, 2013

Life's A Beach: Sand Is The New Gravel

Firstly, here's a SPOILER ALERT:

Later this week I'll be vanishing again.

I'll let you know again before I do, and in the meantime I'll be here for a few more days. Also, if you're wondering where I'm off to, I'll be headed to a small republic called Noneofyourfuckingbusinessistan, where the chief export is a lack of disclosure.

The "fighting" was thrilling enough, but I was more captivated by the subplot, in which one of the "antagonists" punts his helment into a passing car:

And then some cubicle jockey and his ladyfriend get out and, wearing expressions of deep concern, scrutinize the car for damage as though it's a living, breathing thing and not just a piece of shit Mazda:

("Is that from the helmet or the pedestrian we ran down earlier?")

Why even bother stopping? Honestly, people are such wussbags about their cars. The idea that a vehicle that weighs over a ton and lives most if not all of its life outside somehow shouldn't get dented or scratched is completely delusional. If you've ever gently rapped on a car to let an oblivious driver know that he or she was about to run you over then you know how hysterical these morons can get when you dare touch their stupid, oversized appliances. It's like getting upset at someone for messing up the front door of your house by knocking on it. Sure, I realize a lot of the blame lies with the banks, which trick people into leasing cars with easy monthly payments and then make them pay out the ass for every scratch and scuff when they finally return it, but it's still pathetic how invested people are in the appearance of their econoboxes--this gentleman excluded of course:

("You can't punt a helment into my car because I don't own one.")

Speaking of smugness, while I was in Australia a great big box from Workcycles arrived at my estate:

So on Saturday I summoned my inner "Shabbos goy," paid him a quarter, and assembled its contents for my better half:

(Non-drive side photography is the new drive side photography.)

There's exactly one (1) benefit to being the wife of a bike blogger, and it's that you wind up with a pretty sweet bike. Here it is "about town" with the front rack and kiddie footrests but without the rear child seat:

After christening the bike with a bottle of Snapple we undertook a maiden voyage to the New York Botanical Gardens, where I saw this Brompton-in-a-cozy:

Complete with artisanal saddle scrotum:

Anyway, not only is the Workcycles already making my wife far happier than I ever could, but our kid (one of seventeen (17) but the only one we bother to feed and entertain) is way into riding on that little front kiddie seat and upshifting on the hills with predictably hilarious results.

Also, between this bike and the Big Dummy we now have the portaging capacity of a Honda CRV and the smugness quotient of a food co-op in a medium-sized city.

Of course, man does not live by smugness alone, so I was also sure to Get Fredly this past weekend by putting on stretchy clothes and riding a bike with those pedals you click into and those curved handlebars with the shifters in the break leavers like they ride in the Tour de France:

(Drive side photography came back in style while I was writing this post.)

It wasn't too long ago that I'd be off spending my September weekends getting lapped in cyclocross races. However, I'm now unofficially retired, at least for the time being, so instead I'm embracing the world of giant saddlebags and compact cranks and wide-ish tires by road bicycle cycling standards:

I used 28mm tires for the Rapha Gentledouche's Race this past spring and I liked them so much that I haven't gone back. Plus, everybody knows 28s on road bikes are the new 25s, which were the new 23s, which were the new 21s. In any case, here's some more tire clearance porn:

You'd think with tires like this I might even be tempted to ride on gravel, but I'm not stupid, because not only does this bike lack dick breaks, but I also know that if a piece of gravel were to wedge itself in between the tire and the chainstay I could die:

The frame is based on (and replaces) their Cross Winner cyclocross bike. But, they tweaked it to make it more effective for the flat, sandy courses. The seat tube got steeper to bring you closer to a time trial position so you can lay down the power through softer sand. The head angle was slackened a bit to provide better stability. All of which sounds a lot like some gravel racers we’ve seen.

Sounds great, except what the fuck do I do if I have to race on a gravel beach?

(My head hurts.)

Do I choose my gravel bike, which has been painstakingly optimized to race on tiny rocks, or do I use my beach bike, which has been constructed from special proprietary materials (uh, aluminum) to "help combat salt water"?

Can someone please remind me why we need to sprint to the finish, and then repeatedly congratulate and kiss the winners? Who cares really? You're wasting your time, my time, bandwidth, space on my monitor, all that. You think you're being cute? You think that other people care? Sorry, you're wack, and you actually make the blog a little worse. Thanks.

"Steak & Lowenbrau," reminds me of the time time I tuckered myself out on a long ride with insufficient food supply, and on the way back, at dusk, well past bonking, deliriously creeping through a suburban wasteland of strip-malls looking for food, I see this neon sign saying "STEAKS & PORTER" and I'm like FUCK YES. But then as I get closer I realize I'm looking at a mattress shop and the sign actually says "STEARNS & FOSTER." It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror.

"If you've ever gently rapped on a car to let an oblivious driver know that he or she was about to run you over then you know how hysterical these morons can get when you dare touch their stupid, oversized appliances."

Used to be folks commented on the post rather than try to pick each other up (good luck with that btw). In regards to that. So... that's two (2) child perching areas on that bike. Is there another li'l snob on the way?! Could it be!??!

I wondered whether there was another little snobbers on the way, too, but it looks to me like the favoured wee one is graduating from a child seat with neck support to an in-the-front, pre-trailer-bike, learn-how-to-keep the-bike-under-you position.

I would love to be wrong about that, though. Be nice to yer wife, snobby-doodle-doo. Make her want to ride more than that sweet new bike, mmmkay?

Don't underestimate the weights of cars. They do weigh more than a ton. Lots more. Even a Toyota Corolla is about 2,900 pounds, a Camry runs 3,200 and a Ford F-150 is about 4,800. That's curb weight, before you load it up with bloated occupants and a bunch of bulk purchases from Costco or the loads of gravel all the pickup drivers in the tv ads seem to haul around. Or Dutch utility bikes on racks.

...did anyone else know there was going to be a test at the end of this post?!

OK, comprehension test:

Bike Fight Club = they need to learn how to throw a punch before engaging in a physical altercation. One of them is going to get into an altercation with an MMA dood someday, and end up taking a "nap".SIDE NOTE: I hope somebody gets that on camera.

Mrs. BSNYC bike = Way rad. I noticed the 2-passenger capacity as well, and was wondering the same thing. Bun in the oven there, Snobbie?

Hey, Anon:I think you miss the point here that we all kind of like each other and through the miracle of BikeSnob's blog have gotten to know some pretty funny, well-versed and great folks that I would love to meet someday.Some more than others, though.Just sayin'.Oh. Congrats to today's podium winners.

In a more intelligent version of the gravelboarding, a group of Boy Scouts used the sand dunes in Death Valley to do some sandboarding:http://scoutingmagazine.org/2013/08/cut-loose-with-this-sandboarding-troop-in-death-valley/

Snob - I would suggest that you order up some padded cycling panties so that you can wear them for all of your rides, grow your hair out on your legs (if you haven't already done so), and drop the pretense once and for all. Same goes for all of us bicycling cyclists (both male and female bicycling cyclists are can keep shaving their legs if they so choose so long as they are willing to admit it is solely for fashion and that it has no practical purpose). The sooner that we drop the pretense and admit to our fredliness the happier we will all be.

A drop bar fat bike is for beach racing? I thought it was for working off my beer gut.

September 9, 2013 at 2:39 PM"

The drop bars on that bike don't drop enough to merit the "drop" title. They actually look as though they're designed to accommodate one's beer gut rather than make one work it off.

I've been seeing these half-hearted not-so-drop bars all over the joint recently so maybe they're the latest thing or something and to be totally honest I find them rather fetching (plus they can accommodate my beer gut), but what's the deal with them?

I think we should consult Babble and RQ on optimum diameters. Is a larger diameter thats not quite as stiff better than a smaller diameter thats super hard and rigid? Im sure the small stiff one is great for a punishing ride and hard workout but would the larger circumference with a little give make for an easier effort with the same result?

1. Assuming the brakes are set up correctly you have just crippled your ability to stop.2. Assuming the brakes are set up incorrectly to work when open you have lost the quick release function, which would almost definitely be necessary to insert or remove a 28 that was anything other than flat3. It is aesthetically not-so-pleasing.

"Assos also claims to have four pending patents for the S7 line, including the 'KuKu Penthouse,' a soft pouch for the male genitals on the front of the short that is inserted into a cutout in the chamois."

Love Paselas. But schill a little for Challenge and maybe they'll send you some eroica or almanzo tires (the latter is a gravel tire, so you might get confused on pavement). Seriously, though, they are remarkable supple tires.

I want to comment on this blog like a "normal person"....you know post a funny link that relates to the topic at hand...I posted that stupid Chamois Panties video...for the record: would, wouldn't, would, would, would, wouldn't, would, would. I'm trying.

Goddamnit, if that phote is not the best "gravel board" photo in all of human history, and here I am trying to share the wealth.

When you get so riled up like this, it just makes me want to share.

I apologize for using your comments as a surrogate therapist. Headshinkers are nuts anyways, that's why they get in the biz in the place. And they'd prolly just give me pills I don't want to take. And I am american so that shit costs a lit of money and I truly believe I am much happier spending that money on weed, stupid bike parts, girls. AND THERAPUTICALLY ANNOYING THE SHIT OUT OF ROADIES

I don't know RQ that's a huge ask for a big tire with alot of age on it. One minute your buzzing along on a 28c with 120 psi and you pick up the pace and BOOM you gots sealant all over your rim. I guess if you want to keep riding you pump it back up.

Sometimes I wonder if this is how poor old Weylandcorp Rock Machine feels. Of course, I consider myself a member of the acid drooling parasitic infestation, but as in the movie there is only one of sufficient tenacity to necessitate a one on one showdown: "Get away from my blog you bitch!"

And space is relevant to today's post because... well of course because, you see, when the elite eventually leave the ruins of Earth to live in their orbiting space castles, they will love nothing more than partaking in a round of space golf. Eventually however, the novelty of space golf will wear off and space cycling will become the new space golf. And that is where Vacuum of Space Bikes will make their debut. No filthy, bumpy Earth gravel to contend with while floating in orbit, so no tire clearance necessary. In fact, no tires. Nothing to drive off of, so no drivetrain. Very Zen, low maintenance. So, it's a saddle, a top tube and a handlebar and away you float, at 16 000 mph. Do a couple laps of Earth and get a space coffee... from Starbucks. Yeah, oh that reminds me: In space no one can hear you scream "On your left!", so don't bother.

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About Me

While I love cycling and embrace it in all its forms, I'm also extremely critical. So I present to you my venting for your amusement and betterment. No offense meant to the critiqued. Always keep riding!